Prodigal Son
by BadWolfRising
Summary: When the town's beloved mayor falls ill, can a new friend help her? Find out in this story of healing, faith, hope, friendship, love and redemption. (Story will be better than the summary, I promise.)
1. Chapter 1

_**PRODIGAL SON**_

 _I know, I know_. _What am I doing starting another story when I have two unfinished ones in the works? Well, sometimes I get writer's block on some stories but I don't want to stop writing, so I try to write something else. For a couple years, I wasn't writing at all, for a variety of reasons, so I'm trying to come back to it, slowly but surely._

 **Disclaimer** : I do not own any of this except the story. All characters are the property of Janette Oke and Crown Media/Hallmark. This disclaimer extends to this and all future chapters.

 _ **Chapter One**_

 _A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you a heart of flesh._ [Ezekiel 36:26]

It was autumn in Hope Valley. As far as the eye could see were trees having changed from the brilliant green of summer to the cranberry reds, maple browns, and pumpkin orange of the fall. And many trees lining Hope Valley's main street grew heavy with their harvest of apples. The nights were colder now, so in the early evening, near twilight, someone walking down the street might smell smoke in the air, mixed with the pungent smell of cider, cinnamon and nutmeg. If you're lucky, you might even smell hot cocoa laced with honey, a popular drink at Abigail's café.

But the mood of the town these days was somber. It had been a few weeks since they had received word of Constable Jack Thornton's death and Hope Valley, which had been rocked with tragedy over the years, was still recovering from this latest blow. The laughter of children playing didn't ring through the town like it used to and the congregation at church each Sunday was quiet and reflective.

Out on the edge of town, Constable Thornton's grave was still fresh, the smell of the earth mixing with the scents of late fall. The bitter winds that blew through on occasion reminded the inhabitants that, even though autumn was still in bloom, winter was not far off.

Elizabeth Thatcher Thornton could often be found there, usually planting something by the grave. "To keep her hands busy," she'd explain to her best friend, Abigail. "And to make the spot more like a home."

Abigail understood. Understood the need to keep busy and distracted. "Just make sure you take care of the baby," she advised. "You do need your rest, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth sighed, "I know. But I find that I need to be doing _something_. I haven't been sleeping well, I'm queasy a lot of the time, and I just don't want to be alone with my thoughts."

"I understand," Abigail responded quietly, "After Noah and Peter died, I did everything in my power to keep from being alone. To keep myself from remembering what I had just lost. "

Elizabeth nodded, tears welling up, despite herself. "I don't know how I'm ever going to get through this, Abigail. I know I have the baby to think about and the children in school but I feel like …like…" She trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

"….Like part of your heart is missing…" Abigail nodded in understanding, her heart aching for her grieving friend.

"Exactly." Elizabeth wiped a tear from her eye.

"You have to give it time." Abigail said, "it'll be difficult but, in time, I promise you, it'll get easier. Not _better_ ," she clarified, "but easier. Each day will be less and less painful – and eventually, you'll remember him with joy."

"I can't imagine ever _not_ feeling this empty." Elizabeth said quietly.

"I know it's hard to imagine but trust me, trust God, He will heal the pain." Abigail embraced her friend as Elizabeth began to cry.

"I feel so silly," she sniffled, "I haven't been able to stop crying since it happened."

"That's normal too." Abigail said, "I'd be wondering about you if you _weren't_ crying. Plus, you have all these additional hormones."

"Yes, I know," Elizabeth grumbled a little, "I am a little tired of getting sick at the smell of coffee…and eggs….and smoke…and…"

Abigail had to laugh, "How I remember those days! I know they're not pleasant but you're getting something so beautiful out of all this discomfort."

"I know," Elizabeth gave her a half-smile, "it's what helps make all of this more bearable. Knowing that part of Jack is still with me."

"Elizabeth, Jack will _always_ be with you," Abigail gently patted her hand, "in your heart, in your memories, in your child. Everywhere you look. And, yes, it will hurt for a long time. But, eventually, you'll find joy in your shared places again. They won't always be a painful reminder."

"I wish I could skip all the pain and just get to that stage." Elizabeth said wistfully.

"Don't we all." Abigail replied. "But grief, pain – that's the price we pay for loving someone deeply."

"Makes me not want to love anyone again." Elizabeth whispered.

"You feel that way now." Abigail looked at her in understanding. "But, in time, you'll change your mind. Jack would have never wanted you to shut out the possibility of love again."

"I just feel so guilty even considering that possibility." Elizabeth admitted. "Like admitting that I might love again is being disloyal to his memory."

"Not at all," Abigail responded, "it's what he wanted for you, it's what he _still_ wants for you."

"Oh, Abigail," Elizabeth hugged her friend, "you're such a treasure. Thank you for being with me through all of this. I don't deserve you."

"Nonsense," Abigail replied firmly, "it is I who are blessed with your friendship. Now, let's get you some biscuits. You have to keep up your energy."

Elizabeth allowed herself to be led away by the tempting promise of biscuits, one of the few foods she could still tolerate fairly well. _The way I'm consuming biscuits_ , she mused, _this baby will be addicted to them from day one!_

After leaving a tired Elizabeth at her row house following a hearty dinner of biscuits, biscuits, and more biscuits, Abigail started back to her café. Twilight was falling on Hope Valley earlier now, and the days were growing shorter. And chillier. She shivered a little at the wind that tugged at her dress sleeves. _My goodness_ , she thought, _it is getting colder these days. Seems earlier than normal_. _Or maybe it's just grief_.

Abigail Stanton missed her friend Jack. She had never forgotten the day he first left for the Northern Territories. His farewell to her had had such _finality_ to it, even though he would eventually end up returning. " _Take care of her, Abigail_." He had told her, " _She means everything to me_." And she had kept her word to him.

His Elizabeth would never ever be alone.

"Evening, Abigail," a voice startled her from her thoughts. Although the light was nearly gone, she recognized the person immediately.

"Good evening, Henry." She said cordially. Given their history and his history with the town over the past several years, Abigail couldn't believe that they were now on a first name basis, exchanging occasional pleasantries when he would come to the café for a quick bite. But since his stint in prison, Abigail had noticed a deep change in Henry.

Most of the town (Jack included) had initially been skeptical of Henry's change. There were still many that refused to talk to him and would turn their backs on Henry when meeting him in the street. So Abigail had been told. She hadn't yet noticed it herself – maybe they didn't dare do it when the mayor was around?

"H-how are you?" He stuttered a bit. This new Henry, a far cry from the old, was a bit on the shy side. Kept to himself, didn't really socialize that much given that most of Hope Valley still were resentful over the things he'd done. Abigail didn't condone their resentment, but she understood it.

So did Henry. He had admitted to her several times that he had a long way to go to earn folks' forgiveness.

"Tired," she smiled, "busy day at the café and then I met Elizabeth out on the edge of town."

"She at his grave again?" He asked, seemingly abruptly, but Abigail noted a hint of concern in his tone.

"Every day." Her eyes looked sad.

"It's a hard thing." Henry started to say. "Constable Thornton was a good man."

"Yes, he was." She responded. "And a good friend to this town."

"Sure was. And one of the few that didn't completely reject me when…when I returned."

"That's the kind of man he was," Abigail simply, "you showed him you were trying to change. He saw that. He wouldn't have held a grudge against you, Henry."

"Maybe, maybe not." Henry shrugged. "If he had, I woulda deserved it."

"No, Henry," Abigail said firmly, turning to look him straight in the eye, "you would not."

"I stole from this town, Abigail. I let their men – your husband – die. There's no coming back from that."

"No one, Henry Gowen, no one is beyond redemption." She eyed him sharply. "There's no sin God can't forgive and if God can forgive you, Henry, no reason others can't."

"There are 48 good reasons, Abigail." Gowen replied softly, eyes cast down. "Many of them are buried out near Constable Thornton."

"Henry, listen to me," Abigail put one hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. He looked up but seemed almost too ashamed to hold her gaze. "You've made mistakes. Bad ones. But you're not unredeemable. No one is."

"I think you're the only one that thinks that." He grumbled.

"Give them time," Abigail said, echoing the advice she gave Elizabeth. "Time can soften the angriest of hearts." She gave him a faint smile. "It did with you."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: _Wow, this is a massive update. I was trying to split this into two chapters but once these characters started talking, they wouldn't stop. Even though I really want to get to the action lol. Please read and leave me some reviews – they help me to write better and more!_

 _ **Chapter 2**_

"As I've said before," Henry said quietly, "maybe you're just thinking what you _want_ to think."

"Don't give me that, Henry Gowen." Abigail retorted. "You're not the same man that went into that jail and you know it."

Henry had no response to make to this. He couldn't deny that he had been doing things that would have been completely uncharacteristic of him a few years (or even a year) ago.

"You see what you want to see."

"Henry," she rolled her eyes in sheer frustration, "why are you _so_ determined to have yourself seen as the bad guy?"

"Because that's what I _am_ ," he responded heatedly, "I'm no good, Abigail. My friends have abandoned me…"

"Then they weren't really your friends, Henry. And you have friends," she insisted, "many of them in Hope Valley."

"The ones who turn their backs on me when they see me coming? Yeah, real friends." He sneered, hints of the old Henry in his voice.

Abigail had a hard time restraining her annoyance but, taking several deep breaths, she managed to say calmly, "Believe it or not, Henry, there are plenty of people here in Hope Valley that care about you. And they consider you their friend. I'm not saying reintegrating is going to be easy – you made some bad choices and you're still paying the consequences. But, you're not alone."

He stopped and looked at her, "Why do you believe in me?"

"I believe in all the members of this community." She said, "I have to."

"After all I've done?" Henry responded in disbelief. "How is that possible?"

"With a lot of patience," Abigail gave him a wry grin.

He shook his head ruefully, "I'll never understand you, Abigail."

"I could say the same about you." She smiled.

And for a few moments, the two of them walked along in companionable silence. Abigail took a deep breath and closed her eyes, smelling the lingering odors of smoke, sawdust, and autumn. The air was chill and yet she sensed some warmth and heaviness there, like a calm before a storm.

"Henry," she said quietly, "I want to ask you a question."

"Okay." He said, a bit uncertainly.

"I think you owe me an explanation." She began.

"I seem to owe you a lot of those." He mumbled.

"About the mine." Abigail met his eyes squarely.

Henry knew that this would come up. It was only a matter of time. He had wanted to avoid it, because this was one of the things he couldn't justify whatsoever. How do you even begin explaining to someone that you were partly responsible for what happened to their husband and child? If he was honest with himself, Henry knew that he had been hoping this would never come up. It was the one thing he really had no excuse for.

"What happened there, Henry?" She asked him quietly. "Why did Noah and Peter die? Were you _truly_ responsible?"

If Abigail hadn't been watching his face, she would have missed the quick flicker of pain that crossed it. But it definitely was there.

"I don't know if you want to hear all this." Henry said gruffly. "It's not good, Abigail."

"What I want, what I _deserve_ , is the truth." Abigail said, "That's all I've ever wanted."

"Even if the truth hurts?" He asked.

"Even if it hurts." She nodded.

"Can we sit?" Henry asked. "I hate to admit this, but my knee has a little problem with cold weather."

"Of course," Abigail said worriedly, "I forgot about your knee. I apologize. Let's go to my cafe."

"Saloon would be better." Henry had a feeling that this conversation would need a lot of whiskey.

"Saloon it is." Abigail agreed, without hesitation. While she didn't drink herself, she could understand why a man like Henry would feel that he needed "liquid courage." Opening up wasn't easy for him. Trying to get him to say more than ten words at a time could be a bit of a challenge. But she had felt more and more in the last year, that, underneath all the gruffness and surliness, was a somewhat caring soul. (She wasn't sure if "sensitive" would be the right word to describe Henry.)

He didn't like attention, that was sure. She remembered when she thanked him for bringing Becky home for Christmas - he was awkward, shy almost - and dismissive of what he had done. As if he wasn't used to being thanked or praised for anything. _What kind of upbringing must he have had?_ Abigail wondered, _to feel like he wasn't deserving of gratitude and thanks, even though he had made mistakes_.

One day she was going to ask.

Walking into the saloon, she noted with relief that not many people seemed to be there. Not so much relief for herself as much as worrying whether or not they'd snub Henry. Abigail had discovered over the past few months that she really cared about how Henry was treated.

 _They just need time_ , she thought to herself, _they think this "change of heart"was just a ploy to get out of a prison sentence_. Instinctively, _she_ knew that wasn't true - but others (with just cause) didn't. After all he had done to them, Abigail didn't blame them for not wanting to wholeheartedly embrace him yet.

Active unkindness though, was another story.

"We can take a table in the back." Henry offered. "It might not look good for the mayor to be seen with the local felon." He added, a little bitterly.

"Out here is just fine." Abigail said firmly. "If they have a problem with me spending time with a friend that is their problem. Not mine and definitely not yours."

Henry gave her an awkward smile but still looked uncomfortable.

"Of course," Abigail added, trying to make him feel more at ease, "if you'd rather have some more privacy, we can sit in the back."

He looked relieved. "I think that would be best."

After settling in to a corner table and ordering drinks (Abigail, some hot cider, Henry, a glass of bourbon on the rocks), Henry began to speak slowly.

"You know what I told you in that prison? About growing up on a dirt floor in a sharecropper's cabin?"

Abigail nodded, "You said you were used to taking."

"…and that I never stopped." Henry finished. "Well, what you don't know is that Hope Valley wasn't the only place I got caught stealing."

"How is that possible?" Abigail asked. "You worked for the mining company. They wouldn't have employed you with a criminal record."

"They knew." Henry said shortly. "They knew and they used it. I was young, stupid, and arrogant. Thought I wouldn't get caught."

"And you did."

"And I did."

Abigail began to get a clearer picture of what was going on. "They blackmailed you into working for them."

"You could say that." Henry admitted, "But I wasn't a saint. I made my choice."

"To agree to the cover-up."

"Yes," he said, "to my regret. That's really where it all started. Don't get me wrong," he leaned forward, hand on his glass. "I take responsibility for what I done. But there were other…factors involved."

"So," Abigail took a sip of her cider, "the mining company used your record against you. Did that follow you to Hope Valley?"

"It did," he nodded, staring into his glass.

Abigail used to be angry at Henry, furious even. This man had indirectly been the cause of her losing everything that she held most dear. Her husband, her son. And there was nothing he could do or say to bring them back. His actions following the accident had made her even angrier – she may have even come very close to hating him at the time.

But now?

Now she could only pity him. Yes, he had made some terrible mistakes. And some of them had cataclysmic repercussions. But he had also paid a price for those mistakes. Gone to jail. Permanently injured his knee. Lost all his money. And, now, he was barely eking out a living working in the lumber mill. Doing manual labor.

Everything he used to hold dear had been completely stripped and taken away.

"I'm still listening," she said quietly. And there was no judgment in her gaze. Just compassion for the man he was now and sympathy for the once innocent boy he had been. "People are responsible for the choices they make," she added slowly, "but I think we tend to forget that our environments help shape us. Who we are today is shaped by many different things."

"But don't our choices make us who we are?" Henry looked at her, sipping on his drink slowly, his eyes catching every nuance of her expression.

"Yes," she chose her words carefully, "but there are different things that shape how we make our choices. Some of those things we can help. Some (like our environment growing up) we can't help. But what we _can_ do is ultimately make the choice of who we _want_ to be and go from there."

Henry thought about this.

"Also," Abigail continued, "breaking bad habits is hard. If you've made bad choices your whole life, it's going to be difficult to change that completely. But it's not impossible – with faith and perseverance. I've already started seeing the change in you."

He started to speak.

"Oh, no you don't, Henry Gowen." Abigail cut him out. "I know what you're going to say. But other people see it too. It's not just me any longer."

"What you said about makin' choices…" Henry said quietly, "it helps when there's someone to believe in you."

"It does, indeed." Abigail said, leaning forward and grasping his hand. "I believe in you, Henry, even if you don't believe in yourself."

"I don't know if I can ever come back from what I done." He said gruffly. "The judge at the trial? He wasn't completely wrong. I knew conditions were bad. But the company had made it very clear that we had to make our quotas or they'd start cutting people. So we had to push on. In the company's eyes, any delay was too long."

"They used you." She said quietly. "They knew your weaknesses and used them against you."

"Maybe." He said thoughtfully, "But I didn't make it hard for them."

"If you don't mind me asking," Abigail said, "how did they pressure you?"

"Remember those Pinkerton fellas? Spurlock and the others?"

She nodded.

"They weren't really Pinkertons. Those were company boys." He sat back in his chair, take a long swallow of his drink.

"I should be surprised but I'm not," Abigail responded, "I always did think they stayed too close to you."

"Was to keep me in line. Remind me of my place."

"And framing Noah?" Abigail said, her face tightening.

"Was my idea." He admitted, shame-facedly. "I wanted to save my own skin."

For a moment, there was a long and awkward silence. Henry fingered his glass, looking at Abigail intently. He could see the emotions warring on her face, the disappointment, the hurt, the pain…and the anger.

"Look," he started, "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted nothin' more to do with me. I'm not worth it. Not worth saving. Don't bother."

"Henry Gowen," Abigail snapped, in sheer frustration, "you are a stubborn, obstinate….MAN! I don't give up on people. Not now, not ever. You should know that by now. Just face it," she set her chin, "you're not going to win this fight."

"Far be it from me to fight," he raised his hands wearily, "I just….I just don't deserve any friends after what I done." He looked her straight in the eyes, "For what it's worth, Abigail, I'm sorry. For all of it. For trying to save my own skin by throwin' your husband under the wagon wheels. I'm sorry that I was too much of a lousy coward to stick it to the Company. I don't deserve your forgiveness."

"Lucky for you, Henry, that you have no say in whom I choose to forgive." She smiled warmly at him and placed her hand on his, interweaving her fingers with his own. His hands were large and warm and, now, cracked and calloused from his work at the sawmill. He wore rougher clothes now, none of the fancy suits and fur lined coats from when he was mayor and mine owner. "I believe in you," Abigail added quietly, "I just wish I could get you to believe in yourself. To see what I see." She squeezed his hand, gently.

Henry found it oddly reassuring.

"I don't know what you see." He confessed, staring down at their hands linked together.

"I see a good man who has made some bad mistakes but who is trying to make amends."

"I'd like to have a pair of those rose-colored glasses you're wearing." He said cynically.

"You're just bound and determined to make this hard, aren't you?" Abigail crossed her arms.

"I just don't want you to waste your time." Henry said gruffly.

"Let me decide that." She said. "I'm certainly capable of making my own decisions. Now, tell me, what happened with the company after the judge shut it down?"

"Well," he said slowly, "they purchased my share in the mine. And by "purchase", I mean, they made it very clear that I was to give it up or else. Then they fired me. Repossessed almost everything I had." He frowned into his whiskey before taking a deep swallow. "They didn't want to kill me. That'd be too messy. They thought it'd be a better punishment to let me live with what I done, after they took everything."

"Also," he added, "they didn't figure I'd be out of prison for at least ten years. Yes," he said, anticipating Abigail's question, "they followed the embezzlement trial too."

"Aren't you worried they'll come after you?" Abigail asked, a little concerned.

"Nah, they got bigger fish to fry. It's enough that I have no reputation left, very few friends, and little money."

"But you could go after them in court!" Abigail said.

"Who's gonna believe me?" Henry looked at her in disbelief, "A large company over the word over a convicted felon?"

"Stranger things have happened," She said, trying to be positive.

He gave her a wry half-grin. "Not sure I really believe in miracles."

"I do." Abigail said firmly.

"Let it be, Abigail." He said wearily. "Just let it go."

Abigail decided to leave it for the moment and sat back to sip her cider. She looked at him thoughtfully, marveling at the man in front of her. Henry had once been so confident, aggressive, abrasive, and ruthless. She saw no hint of those traits in the man seated at the saloon table. Henry Gowen had turned into a surprisingly shy, awkward, and humble man, unsure of his place in a town that hadn't forgotten what he had done to them.

She found herself even more bound and determined to help him.

Whether he wanted it or not.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: _I know many of you can't really see a romance between Abigail and Henry, and, at this point in the story, I actually haven't made up my mind yet. However, that being said, I want to, at the very least, explore the friendship growing between them. Because, really, Martin and Lori interact so well together and they have very palpable chemistry. Just please keep an open mind_. _Don't worry, the story will pick up pace eventually._

Chapter 3

"I have another reason for speaking with you tonight," Abigail started. "I got a telegram earlier this week from Greta Preston."

"How is she?" Henry inquired politely, fingering his whiskey.

"Doing well, apparently." Abigail smiled, "Absolutely loving spending her time with her grandchildren. They seem to have softened her up a great deal."

"Well, soft or not, she's still tough as nails." Henry observed.

"Oh, undoubtedly. Which is why she wants to review some of the town's ledgers from the past month."

"To check on the bank's investments?" He guessed shrewdly.

"Right. She just doesn't want a repeat of what happened a few months ago." Abigail winced, remembering the near-collapse of the bank and how they had barely managed to avoid a complete financial catastrophe. But, thanks to Greta Preston, they were solvent once again and the men were getting paid regularly, much to Abigail's relief. If she had to deal with a snarky and frustrated Florence once more….well, even Abigail's patience and forbearance had their limits.

"What does this have to do with me?" Henry was never one for beating around the bush.

"Well, she actually wants both of us to meet with her." Abigail looked at her hands.

"Why?" He scratched his head, looking confused. "I'm a convicted felon. I can't be handlin' town funds, you know that, she knows that."

Abigail chose her words carefully. "Henry, I know that _officially_ you can't be handling town funds. But there is nothing to stop you from assisting me in a consultant capacity. I can pay you."

He frowned. "That's not necessary, Abigail. I don't need your charity."

"You are an exasperating man, Henry," She pursed her lips in annoyance, "it's not charity if you're working for me."

"I just don't like being beholdin' to you. You've done enough for me as it is." He looked uncomfortable.

"Henry," she said patiently, "I'd do the same for anyone else in this community."

"Would you?" He asked skeptically.

"Yes, I would." Abigail responded heatedly. "We look out for one another. That's what communities _do_. And since I'm mayor of this community, I'm responsible for every single person in Hope Valley. That includes _you_ , Henry."

"Fine, fine," he raised his hands in surrender, smiling a little. "I guess there's no use trying to change your mind."

"No, there's not." She smiled. "Bill knows that once I've made up my mind, there's no changing it."

"So what does this entail?" Henry asked quietly.

"Greta mentioned that she wanted to meet with both of us in Benson Hills. She has some business there apparently and it's close enough that we could be down and back in one day."

"So I'm a chauffeur?" He raised an eyebrow and sounded a bit indignant.

"Of course not." Abigail replied. "I'm still new to learning the books and you've had much more experience translating the numbers than I have. I'd be foolish not to take advantage of your knowledge and skills. Plus, you were the one that brought Greta to Hope Valley. Despite your past, she's still willing to work with you."

"Yeah," he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "some might call that stupid."

"Or smart," Abigail retorted, "something about keep your friends close and enemies closer?"

"I'm not your enemy," he grinned, for the first time all night, "but, yeah, something like that."

"Anyway," Abigail continued, "Greta wants to see both of us. First, she wants to look over the books and then she wants to give a preliminary assessment. She said it probably wouldn't take very long but that I should plan on a couple hours at least. Can Lee give you some time off from the mill?"

"I'm sure something can be arranged." Henry said.

"So you're willing to do it?"

"Got nothing better to do." He shrugged and took a sip of whiskey. Draining his glass, he gestured at the bartender for another one.

"Henry," Abigail said quietly, "are you all-right?"

"Why do you ask?" He inquired.

"You just seem… different." She looked at him thoughtfully. "I can't put my finger on it."

"Been a rough month," he looked at her, eyes shuttered.

"For all of us, yes, it has." She said sadly.

"Jack was one of the few in this town that was willing to give me another chance. He welcomed me when no one else would."

She looked at him sympathetically. "You're grieving too."

Instantly, he started to deny it. "Naw, don't make too much out of this. He was just a decent man, y'know? Didn't necessarily hold the past against me, even though he could have. _Should_ have," Henry added, under his breath.

She heard it. But decided to ignore it.

"Henry," she said quietly, "we're all hurting. It's normal after a loss."

He didn't respond, simply looked into his glass. "Yeah, well, that may be."

"So," Abigail quickly changed the subject. "Can I count on you to accompany me to Benson Hills day after tomorrow?"

"Sure," he said, "if we leave early enough, we could make good time."

"Agreed. 5:30 too early for you?"

"I rarely sleep these days," Henry gave her a shy grin, "I could leave at four in the morning if I have to."

"Well, thankfully, _one of us_ needs more than just a few hours of sleep." Abigail gently teased, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Come on, now," he teased back, "surely the mayor can survive on 3-4 hours of sleep."

" _This_ mayor can't." She retorted. "Not if you want me to be at all coherent for Greta Preston."

"Fair enough. I'll talk to Lee in the morning. See if I can get a day off. Shouldn't take us longer than that."

"Okay, then." Abigail left payment for her drink on the table, "just let me know tomorrow whether or not you can go. Again, I'm willing to compensate you for your time."

"Not necessary," Henry reminded her, "I'm just doing a favor for a friend."

"So we're friends now?" Abigail smiled, "Thought you didn't have any friends." Henry didn't miss the twinkle in her eye.

"Wouldn't go that far," he mumbled.

Abigail had to laugh. "Honestly, Henry Gowen, would it kill you to admit that people actually care about you?"

"You're delusional, Abigail." Henry huffed. "You got this talent for seeing just exactly what you want to see."

"Is that so bad?" She asked him gently.

"Just don't want you gettin' hurt by setting up unrealistic expectations." He looked at the floor. "I'm not a good man, Abigail."

"So you keep telling me," Abigail folded her arms, "Honestly, Henry, do you really believe that? Or do you just want _me_ to believe that?"

"I don't see how anyone could believe anythin' else." Gowen said frankly. "I got people killed."

"Last time I checked, you weren't the one you gave the order to keep the mine running." She said calmly.

"No, but..."

"Henry," Abigail reached for his hand again, held it in hers. He looked down at their fingers interwoven together, looking surprised that she wasn't running from him screaming with horror. He couldn't remember the last time he had been touched by anyone, save Nora and now Abigail, with such kindness. Not since he was very small...before all the happiness had gone from his life. He looked her straight in the eyes - scanning them for the pity he was certain he'd find there.

There was none. Simple kindness and affection.

And the ice around Henry's heart started to crack a little bit more.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"But why do you have to go?" Cody complained. He never liked it when his mom had to go out of town.l

"Because," Abigail explained patiently, "I have a job to do and sometimes my job means I have to travel a little bit." Seeing his downcast face, she hurried to reassure him, "But I won't be gone very long – I may even be back in just a couple of hours - and Mrs. Thornton would love to have your company."

Cody still looked a little reluctant, "But she's so sad all the time, Mom. I hardly ever see her smile even at school and she LOVES school!"

Abigail frowned. She hadn't known things were going that badly still. "Just give her time, sweetheart," she told Cody, "remember how much you missed your father after he died?"

Cody nodded, listening intently.

"It's like that for her." Abigail said quietly. "When you lose someone close to you…"

"….it leaves a big hole inside." Cody finished. "That's what Mountie Jack told me cuz he lost his papa too."

"That's right," Abigail said, "and right now Mrs. Thornton is trying to figure out how to live with a great big hole inside."

Cody frowned, "And it hurts walking around with a hole inside."

"That's exactly right." Abigail said. "So can you do me a BIG favor?"

"Sure, Mom."

"Can you take REALLY good care of Mrs. Thornton while I'm gone? I know you'll be great at doing that and you can bring Dasher."

"I can be the man of the house?" Cody's ears perked up.

"You can be the man of the house." Abigail smiled. She didn't know what she would do without this boy. She would never stop missing Peter but Cody had become as close to her as any blood family member. He was _her_ son now. And, as she had told Elizabeth once, she would never tire of hearing "mom."

It had been such a long time.

"Ok, Mom," Cody said decisively, "you can go. I'll take really good care of Mrs. Thornton."

Abigail smiled. "That's my boy." She wrapped him in a big hug. "Now get ready for school. Mr. Gowen and I will leave after I drop you at school."

Cody frowned, "I can walk to school by myself, Mom."

"But I want to walk with you." Abigail said, wanting to see Elizabeth briefly herself before she left. She had discussed the matter with her friend very quickly over the past day or so, but Elizabeth had been busy with class and rather preoccupied, so they hadn't really had a chance to sit down.

"Oh, okay." He groused and Abigail chuckled inwardly, amused at Cody's desire to be seen as one of the "big" kids who walked to school all by themselves.

After he got his school books and his healthy lunch, Abigail accompanied him to the small white building that served the residents of Hope Valley as both church and school. Every time Abigail saw it these days, she'd have a pang in her heart, remembering how hard Jack had labored to make this a suitable house of worship _and_ house of education at the same time. So many beautiful memories…. She blinked rapidly to get rid of the tears in her eyes.

She had to be strong for Elizabeth.

"Good morning, Cody and Abigail!" She was relieved to hear her friend sound chipper and upbeat.

"Good morning, Elizabeth." She looked up and smiled. But the smile nearly melted off her face when she saw her friend's appearance. Oh, she looked well enough, comfortably dressed and cheerful. But her eyes….her eyes were haunted with pain and the dark circles around them told Abigail that Elizabeth and sleep hadn't been very close companions recently.

She wasn't surprised really. It had only been a month since Jack had died. And while Elizabeth had seemed so hopeful and happy on Carson's confirmation of her pregnancy, it was clear to Abigail that her friend was still hurting. Based on past experience, Abigail knew that the only thing that would truly help Elizabeth would be time, her friends in Hope Valley, and God.

She wished that Frank was still here. He would know the exact words to say. He was always so good at that. But it had been some time since they had corresponded – and she was reluctant to initiate correspondence. She didn't want him to feel guilty for having left Hope Valley and, knowing how intuitive Frank was, Abigail knew he'd pick up on anything wrong in her letters. So she simply chose not to write…or at least, not to write as often.

He had sent condolences after Jack had died and it had nearly broken her heart all over again. _I know this town has been through so much tragedy_ , Frank had written, _and I know everyone must be hurting. I wish I could be there with you – and Hope Valley – during this time. Unfortunately, I am called elsewhere at this time. But, remember, Abigail, that, even though we don't realize it, God does have a plan. There is a reason that Hope Valley has endured all these trials and hardships._

 _There's a story about a woman who goes to a silversmith to watch the process of refining silver. The silversmith explains to the woman that, in order to purify any impurities in the metal, he has to hold the silver in the spot where the flames burn brightest and hottest._ _The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: 'He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver.' (Malachi 3:3) She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time the silver was being refined._

 _The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed. The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, 'How do you know when the silver is fully refined?' He smiled at her and answered, 'Oh, that's easy — when I see my image in it.'_

 _God allows us suffering to make us more like Him. To purify us of our anger, our selfishness, and our reluctance to turn to Him. He allows us hardship to make us stronger. But He has also promised us that we will not be overcome. Hold tight to that, Abigail. And know that my prayers are with you even if I am not._

 _Love, Frank_

Oh, Frank, she thought, I wish you were here.

"I'm so glad to see you." Elizabeth said, giving her friend a hug. "I'm so sorry I've been so busy."

"It's totally understandable." Abigail returned the hug. "I just hope you're caring for yourself and the baby."

Elizabeth's smile wavered a little, "I'm trying. It's just...still...so hard."

"It takes time." Abigail was completely understanding. But then she looked concerned. "Are you sure you can take Cody while I'm gone?"

"Oh, of course," Elizabeth's face brightened. "Honestly, Abigail, he'll keep my mind off of things. It'll be good for me."

"I think so too." Abigail smiled. "Cody told me he wanted to be 'man of the house' since Mountie Jack isn't here."

Elizabeth's eyes shimmered with tears but she smiled, "Well, he is welcome to be the man in my house."

"I'll leave him with you. I know you have to get to class." Abigail embraced her friend.

"Are you sure you're going to be all-right going with Henry Gowen?" Elizabeth frowned.

"I'll be fine." Abigail reassured her. "Henry has…mellowed."

"He was very sweet to bring that sign for the school." Elizabeth granted.

"From what I understand, he had a significant part to play in making that." Abigail said, with a smile.

"Well, it was very thoughtful." Elizabeth said. "Have a safe trip, Abigail."

"I will. I should be back later today. It's only in Benson Hills."

"Give my regards to Greta." Elizabeth added, as she headed into the classroom.

"Absolutely."

And Abigail went off to meet Henry.


End file.
